


Oxygen

by todisturbtheuniverse



Series: Tongues Will Wag [13]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Breathplay, F/F, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:17:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2367245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by clothtunics on Tumblr: You've had me thinking about f!hawke/isabela breathplay after Silenced, and since the only way to cure myself of this is to destroy someone else's brain with it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oxygen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tablecrumbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tablecrumbs/gifts).



"We ought to celebrate, Hawke," Isabela had said, her eyes dancing. "Come down to my  _gorgeous_ new ship, and we’ll have a lovely night.”

There was something about that look on her face. Hawke wasn’t  _afraid_ , exactly—just anxious, half-excited. Isabela hadn’t let her on the damn ship since they’d taken it from Castillon. She’d spent most of her time aboard it, to the point that Hawke had to beg for her company. It was embarrassing, really.

But now she had Isabela’s invitation; she followed the pirate’s swaying hips to the docks, eyes tracing the fingers clenched on the bottle of whiskey, the sway of the blue sash with every step. Isabela tugged her along, setting a hurried pace.

"What’s your rush?" she laughed. "We have all night, don’t we?"

Isabela glanced back and winked. “It’s not a crime if I want you all to myself, is it?”

She had no smart answer for that, so she kept her mouth shut, the better to  _not_ look like a gaping fish. When they reached the correct dock, Isabela stopped for a moment, spreading her arms wide. The light of the sunset caught in the bottle of whiskey, fracturing into golden beams around her feet.

"Well, there she is," she said, and though the words were small, her tone was so affectionate that Hawke felt a pinch of jealousy.

"She’s lovely," Hawke agreed.

Isabela turned back to her, smirking. “Greedy guts. I’ve enough love for you both, don’t you worry.” She raised her voice. “Boys! Tonight’s your lucky night. Shore leave!”

A dozen men leapt to the dock from the ship, one after another in quick succession.

"Come on," Isabela said, taking Hawke’s hand again, tugging her past the sailors without a second glance. None of them spared a look for Hawke, either; they swarmed past and vanished into the crowd within moments.

Isabela leapt across to the ship, and Hawke followed her over, heaving herself over the side. By the time she stood on deck, the ship rolling gently beneath her feet, Isabela had uncorked the whiskey. “Beautiful,” she sighed, eyeing the mast, “isn’t she? Castillon just didn’t treat her right.”

"I’m sure you will."

Isabela held out the bottle. “The Hanged Man’s Finest,” she offered, grinning wickedly.

Hawke took a deep drink. All these years, and it still tasted like it would kill her. She coughed, steadying herself against the mast. “It’s like Corff bottled the Void, and sold it,” she said, her eyes watering.

"You’ve been drinking too much of that nonsense that  _Aveline_  leaves for you,” Isabela said, disapproving, and took the bottle back. “Well, if  _you_ won’t appreciate it, I will.”

But she didn’t take another drink; she joined Hawke at the mast, hip pressed to hip, and for a moment, they watched the horizon while the sun sank below.

"Hawke," she said, her eyes darting sideways, "do you trust me?"

Hawke laughed. “Never.”

Isabela rolled her eyes, tugging her bandana from her hair. “Ha ha.”

"Are we doing something that requires me to trust you?" Hawke asked, all false innocence. "I wasn’t aware."

Isabela draped the bandana around Hawke’s neck and tugged; Hawke went willingly enough, smiling. “Aren’t we always,” Isabela replied. It didn’t sound much like a question.

Hawke leaned down to kiss her, but Isabela stepped back, tugging her along. “Ah, ah, ah. This is my ship. You’ll do as I say.”

Hawke followed the gentle tug on her neck, trying to close the distance between them, but they reached the cabin and Isabela remained out of reach. She saw their surroundings only briefly—blue sheets on the bed, a red blanket draped over the back of a chair—before Isabela pulled the bandana up over her eyes, knotting it securely behind her head.

When she spoke next, her voice was close enough that Hawke felt her breath against her ear, a soft, warm puff of air. Isabela hadn’t so much as touched her—her hands were planted firmly on the cabin door, her body held an inch apart—but Hawke could feel her lips, nearly brushing her cheek.

"I’ll ask again," Isabela said. Her hand traced down Hawke’s front, cupping her breast, continuing down her ribcage. "Do you trust me?"

Hawke drew a sharp breath when that hand brushed her navel, fingers sliding slowly toward her trousers. “Yes,” she whispered.

"Good." No one ought to trust that voice—like a cat that got the cream, really—but Hawke slumped against the door, waiting. Isabela’s soft breath against her neck produced shivers; goosebumps erupted down her neck, her arm. "Now. Be a good girl, and take a deep breath."

Hawke obeyed; as soon as her lungs were filled, Isabela kissed her.

She was hard, at first, so  _fierce_ —the crush of her mouth bruising. Hawke rode it out, exhaling through her nose as slowly as she could, while Isabela’s lips gentled and her deft fingers pulled open the strings on Hawke’s trousers. By the time Hawke reached the end of her air, Isabela had slipped a single finger into her slick folds. Hawke waited, her heart throbbing, while Isabela traced a calloused finger around her swollen clit.

"Breathe deep," she said at last, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Hawke’s throat.

She breathed; the rush of oxygen nearly overwhelmed her. Isabela looped an arm around her waist, supporting her, and spun her gently away from the door, walking her backward toward the bed. She pressed Hawke down to sit at the edge, removing her hand from Hawke’s pants, and knelt between her legs; Hawke could feel the swell of her breasts brushing the inside of her knees.

"Breathe out," Isabela ordered, hooking her fingers inside Hawke’s boot. "If you finish before I get these off, you’ll have to wait." She pressed an open-mouthed kiss between Hawke’s thighs—even through two layers, the heat made her twitch.

Her air was nearly gone by the time Isabela removed her second boot. She quivered, waiting, blind to what came next. Isabela slipped her fingers beneath the loosened waistband of Hawke’s trousers.

"Breathe," Isabela whispered; as soon as Hawke began to inhale, she slowly pulled the trousers over her thighs.

When her lungs were full, Isabela said, “Hold.” She pulled Hawke’s legs over her shoulders—unable to even groan, Hawke fell to her back on the soft sheets—and pressed a wet kiss, with just a flash of her tongue, to Hawke’s clit. She circled slowly, never touching the bundle of nerves directly after that first flick, and then, just when Hawke’s chest was unbearably tight, she whispered, “Let go.”

Hawke let out a ragged breath, reminding herself not to immediately gulp a new one, but she needn’t have bothered. “Breathe in,” Isabela murmured against her thigh, “and hold.” She went back to work, her tongue moving in firm, flat strokes now, her fingers teasing Hawke’s slick entrance.

When they did this, it seemed to go on forever. In truth, Hawke knew it lasted only a few minutes—the deprivation blinded her, slowed time to a crawl—but she had already been on this ship, with Isabela’s lips and tongue on her, with two fingers pressing gently inside her, for an eternity.

"Out."

Mindless with lust, Hawke obeyed. Isabela rewarded her for her compliance, crooking two fingers inside her exactly right. Hawke whimpered.

"Wait." Isabela lapped at her, tongue flicking in tiny strokes now, a quick staccato rhythm that made Hawke’s hips writhe. She waited, her chest increasingly hollow, rolling against Isabela’s mouth, and then—

"Breathe."

Euphoria came with the burst of oxygen; Isabela thrust her fingers deeper, sucked Hawke’s clit carefully between her lips, and with a broken cry, Hawke shook apart, clutching handfuls of Isabela’s sheets until her joints ached.

When she had breathed her fill on her own—in, out, in, out—Isabela gently pulled the scarf from her eyes and leaned down to kiss her. “Clever Hawke,” she praised, pressing damp lips to her temple, her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth. “Think you could do me in a bit?”

Hawke laughed, still breathless, and rolled until Isabela was pinned beneath her. “Only if you beg,” she said, her hand already working at the laces on Isabela’s jerkin.

Isabela smiled. “You’re an awful tease.”                                            

Hawke curved down to press an open-mouthed kiss between Isabela’s breasts, and Isabela arched against her, eyes falling closed. “You love it,” she whispered.


End file.
